I am in love. A designer whose blog I follow recently referenced this ah-mazing website - 100LayerCake - in one of her posts, and I love it so much that I think I need to share it. Even more than the main website, I am completely in love with the blog portion of the site. Yes, it's a wedding site. And since I'm not getting married at any point in the foreseeable future, and I'm not really one of those "dream all day about my own possible fictional wedding" kind of girls, you may wonder why I have such an obsession with this site. Well, basically, it's because everything in the world that could seem remotely beautiful to me appears here. Forget having a wedding like this... I want my WHOLE LIFE to look like this. It gives me the same feeling of happiness I get when I go to anthropologie. I can't usually afford anything there (though I did recently splurge on some new awesome kitchen stuff) but the whole place just makes me feel calm and inspired and like everything is right in the world. The beauty of 100LayerCake is that the point isn't spending tons of money - it's finding ways to make beautiful and creative things yourself. There is nothing generic or cookie cutter about the weddings they feature on the site. It all seems so personal, and even the stuff that I probably wouldn't personally do (carnival-themed wedding - could be SO scary; heart-shaped stuff - usually makes me barf) ends up being so beautiful and interesting because the people find ways to make it unique and awesome and not cliche. And there are so many little projects and funsies that you could so easily work into designing your home or a random gathering of friends.
It makes me want to do something creative. I think most people I know think of me as a musical person (mostly because the synapses firing in my brain lead to frequent and random outbursts of song), but I've always been incredibly visual more than anything. I guess part of the beauty of music for me is sort of the resulting image I can envision from a particular song. I haven't been doing much singing over the last several months, but it has also given me a chance to take myself out of the equation and completely appreciate the amazing stuff that other folks are creating. It's interesting to me to see how my tastes have evolved as of late, too... In the past, I had a hard time listening to music if I didn't like the singer's voice. I've never been big on over-production, but now more than ever, I appreciate much more the live quality of performance. In a world where auto-tune and a calculated wardrobe malfunction are enough to make a person famous, I find that I'm so much more drawn to the imperfections and honesty of a live performance. If you still sound good enough to evoke a real connection and reaction from your audience, then even if it's not "my taste" I can still find a way to appreciate it.
I'm sure this is a little bit of a stretch here, but I guess what I feel when I hear folks like The Avett Bros or Chris Thile or Ray Lamontagne and countless others is probably the same sense of comfort and awe that I feel when I see something that is beautiful to me, especially when that beauty is organic or handmade and slightly imperfect. It isn't manufactured and sterile. It's natural and a little raw. It's like a field of wildflowers on a perfect pre-dusk evening or watching hundreds of sailboats on the water glistening in the sun. I know it sounds a little ridiculous, but it's that "ahh" factor that I love so much. It makes me want to quit my job and just sit around and make stuff. Of course, the Midwestern practicality takes over and I realize I'm not really willing to suffer for the sake of art. I sometimes envy the people who can do that, but it's just not who I am. There's no reason you can't bring a little of that bohemia into a standard day-job life though. You just have to take the time to break out of the routine. I guess that's the hardest part for me, but it's also the easiest thing to change if you have a little inspiration. Surely 100 layers of inspiration should be enough to do the trick. :)
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
movin' on up
... to the east side. Like, really. Not New York or whatever (or was it Philadelphia? I can't remember)... but the east side of my little town here. Okay, well, actually it's downtown, but it IS on the eastern side of downtown. Okay, shut up. Anyway. I'm excited. I've lived in my same boring duplex for almost 3 years now. This boring duplex is a different floor plan but not terribly unlike the place I lived when I was in college, and it's also not terribly unlike the boring apartment where I lived during grad school. These have all been perfectly decent places, and we always did our best to make them look fun (even on a very meager college budget), but there's still something very cookie-cutter and dull about a row of buildings that all look exactly. the. same. I'm pretty fond of most of my stuff now, but I've been thinking for awhile that it would be more fun if I lived in a more interesting place. Not to mention that the quality of my current neighborhood has diminished quite a bit over the past couple of years. I'd heard reports of vandalism, I'd seen some shadiness going on, and I'd started to feel a little out of place there... I had started looking at other options around town, but there just wasn't much that made me want to go through the hassle of moving again. It's actually been nice having the same address longer than a year for the first time since 2003.
Out of the clear blue, I was looking online one day and saw a large historic home downtown that has been split into 4 apartment units. It was super-charming from the outside, but a lot of places like that end up being grungefest on the inside or they've been hacked apart to the point that you feel like you're in a weird little box. So I tried not to get my hopes up as I planned to meet the landlady to take a closer look. When we went inside, I found original hardwoods (a little bowed and crooked but otherwise quite lovely), an original fireplace with original vintage light fixtures, moderately high ceilings, and plenty of space. Sure, there are some "old house" quirks, but that also means there's lots of charm - random little nooks and cubbies to put stuff. Everyone on those HGTV shows always talks about "lots of natural light"... Where I've been living, that means that the rooms get hotter than all hell when the sun is shining in, but the plaster walls and uber-construction of yesteryear means that this historic house feels nice a breezy even with all that light coming in. I also went in there when it was pretty cold and drab outside and found it to be perfectly cozy enough. Amazing.
We talked price - more than I'm paying now for rent, but with some utilities included, my net "living cost" will be equal to or less than what I'm paying now overall. We talked terms and conditions. It all seemed great. And then I saw the stove. A tiny, tragic little dollhouse stove. It was like my Easy Bake Oven from childhood. Like... so small that my expensive pots and pans wouldn't fit inside the oven. So sad. But I made a ballsy suggestion that they move a cabinet over 5 inches to the right and put in a real stove. And holy home improvement, Batman, they agreed! One cabinet move and brand-new-stove later, I signed a lease, picked up my keys, and started the fun.
I feel like I should post pictures because I think this place is going to be super fun when I get all my stuff in there. Maybe that'll be an exciting project. My style tends to fall somewhere between clean classic and vintage-festive. I like color, but I rarely get to live any place where they'll let me paint the walls, so I like having color in my stuff. I love black-and-white photographs just as much as the bright colorful pop-y art nouveau posters I picked up for like 1 euro apiece at the market in Paris. (That makes me sound like I just pop over to Paris on a regular basis. I don't. I went once. I loved it. And I carry that stuff with me everywhere.) And I'm also in love with lightly aged, sometimes lightly floral or natural vintage touches. I have a need for symmetry (I'm a midwestern girl after all), but I also think a home shouldn't be all matchy. It should be a collection of everything you love in order to reflect who you are or who you want to be. I don't think it has to be expensive (I just bought a living room rug for $19, and I have a full wall of flea market picture frames for less than $100 total), but I also think I've outgrown super cheap dorm-quality stuff. Chairs are worth $600 each if they last forever. And mine had better. So I feel like this place is going to end up being a nifty blend of what I believe it should be in order to be me, at least until I take the leap to buy a house. So. This should be fun. Yay for new places.
Out of the clear blue, I was looking online one day and saw a large historic home downtown that has been split into 4 apartment units. It was super-charming from the outside, but a lot of places like that end up being grungefest on the inside or they've been hacked apart to the point that you feel like you're in a weird little box. So I tried not to get my hopes up as I planned to meet the landlady to take a closer look. When we went inside, I found original hardwoods (a little bowed and crooked but otherwise quite lovely), an original fireplace with original vintage light fixtures, moderately high ceilings, and plenty of space. Sure, there are some "old house" quirks, but that also means there's lots of charm - random little nooks and cubbies to put stuff. Everyone on those HGTV shows always talks about "lots of natural light"... Where I've been living, that means that the rooms get hotter than all hell when the sun is shining in, but the plaster walls and uber-construction of yesteryear means that this historic house feels nice a breezy even with all that light coming in. I also went in there when it was pretty cold and drab outside and found it to be perfectly cozy enough. Amazing.
We talked price - more than I'm paying now for rent, but with some utilities included, my net "living cost" will be equal to or less than what I'm paying now overall. We talked terms and conditions. It all seemed great. And then I saw the stove. A tiny, tragic little dollhouse stove. It was like my Easy Bake Oven from childhood. Like... so small that my expensive pots and pans wouldn't fit inside the oven. So sad. But I made a ballsy suggestion that they move a cabinet over 5 inches to the right and put in a real stove. And holy home improvement, Batman, they agreed! One cabinet move and brand-new-stove later, I signed a lease, picked up my keys, and started the fun.
I feel like I should post pictures because I think this place is going to be super fun when I get all my stuff in there. Maybe that'll be an exciting project. My style tends to fall somewhere between clean classic and vintage-festive. I like color, but I rarely get to live any place where they'll let me paint the walls, so I like having color in my stuff. I love black-and-white photographs just as much as the bright colorful pop-y art nouveau posters I picked up for like 1 euro apiece at the market in Paris. (That makes me sound like I just pop over to Paris on a regular basis. I don't. I went once. I loved it. And I carry that stuff with me everywhere.) And I'm also in love with lightly aged, sometimes lightly floral or natural vintage touches. I have a need for symmetry (I'm a midwestern girl after all), but I also think a home shouldn't be all matchy. It should be a collection of everything you love in order to reflect who you are or who you want to be. I don't think it has to be expensive (I just bought a living room rug for $19, and I have a full wall of flea market picture frames for less than $100 total), but I also think I've outgrown super cheap dorm-quality stuff. Chairs are worth $600 each if they last forever. And mine had better. So I feel like this place is going to end up being a nifty blend of what I believe it should be in order to be me, at least until I take the leap to buy a house. So. This should be fun. Yay for new places.
Friday, March 11, 2011
on being 30.
Wow, it's been awhile, eh? I'm surely among the most inconsistent bloggers on the world wide web. It isn't that my posts aren't consistently wonderful (don't pretend like you're not amazed by me, okay - I mean, who can double-negative like that? yes, double-negative is a verb now), but I have a hard time remembering to come here and say my stuff... or maybe it's more that I have a hard time finding the time to say everything I'd want to say. I don't want to shower the web with meaningless fluff about what I ate for breakfast (cold strawberry no frosting pop-tart this morning) or what I'm wearing (all black with magenta shoes today)... I want what I say to mean something, even if it only has meaning to me.
I'm in the midst of a lot of stuff right now - working a lot but hopefully doing good work, trying to get myself organized to move, and upgrading some things in my life (just bought a shiny new MacBook Pro, but I've yet to transfer anything from my old computer to it.) I've also managed to successfully turn 30 since my last blog. Saying it out loud or writing it down still makes it feel a little surreal. Thirty years is a long time, relative to the average human life span. But at the same time, in many ways I feel like my life is just beginning. While the pain of seeing those gray hairs, recognizing that my vision is getting just a little worse, and feeling just a little bit more achy and creaky is a little tough to bear, I also feel incredibly blessed to have made it this far. There are many people who did many wonderful things without being able to finish three full decades of life. I haven't done very many of the things I thought I'd do before turning 30, and I went through a time of feeling a lack of accomplishment as a result. But another part of me is starting to realize that the best is probably yet to come. And now I've lived enough to see beyond the basics of a given life moment and actually appreciate the real significance of the people, places, choices, events that I encounter along the way. I somehow feel much more in charge of what's happening in my life now, while also having a much deeper understanding of the old cliche (which I happen to fully support) that everything happens for a reason. I guess it's an interesting place to be in... young enough not to be tied down with tons of commitment but also old enough and with just enough wisdom to appreciate it. As much as it hurt that first time I had to put a check in the box next to "30-34" instead of "25-29", I feel like this next bracket is going to be much kinder to me than the previous one.
I think I'm going to celebrate this new-found place of clarity by making a list. Because, hey, that's what I do. Like really, I basically get paid to make lists and check things off. Seriously. I digress. I'm going to make a list. There are so many things that I think I'd like to do but somehow never get around to doing. Some bit of work or life gets in the way. I guess now more than ever, I appreciate that maybe 30 years isn't really that long, and there's no time like the present to make the most out of all the blessings I've been given. I feel so fortunate to be educated and aware, living in a place where I have the most basic of human freedoms that so many don't have, with wonderful people in my life. I still live with uncertainty about the future, knowing that where I am now probably isn't where I always want to be, but it is time to revel in that freedom instead of seeing it as a hindrance. So, it's time to whip out that new checklist template in my Word 2011 for Mac and get on it. Time to rock out. With my, err... yeah. Nevermind. (Some of us get older without really ever growing up.)
I'm in the midst of a lot of stuff right now - working a lot but hopefully doing good work, trying to get myself organized to move, and upgrading some things in my life (just bought a shiny new MacBook Pro, but I've yet to transfer anything from my old computer to it.) I've also managed to successfully turn 30 since my last blog. Saying it out loud or writing it down still makes it feel a little surreal. Thirty years is a long time, relative to the average human life span. But at the same time, in many ways I feel like my life is just beginning. While the pain of seeing those gray hairs, recognizing that my vision is getting just a little worse, and feeling just a little bit more achy and creaky is a little tough to bear, I also feel incredibly blessed to have made it this far. There are many people who did many wonderful things without being able to finish three full decades of life. I haven't done very many of the things I thought I'd do before turning 30, and I went through a time of feeling a lack of accomplishment as a result. But another part of me is starting to realize that the best is probably yet to come. And now I've lived enough to see beyond the basics of a given life moment and actually appreciate the real significance of the people, places, choices, events that I encounter along the way. I somehow feel much more in charge of what's happening in my life now, while also having a much deeper understanding of the old cliche (which I happen to fully support) that everything happens for a reason. I guess it's an interesting place to be in... young enough not to be tied down with tons of commitment but also old enough and with just enough wisdom to appreciate it. As much as it hurt that first time I had to put a check in the box next to "30-34" instead of "25-29", I feel like this next bracket is going to be much kinder to me than the previous one.
I think I'm going to celebrate this new-found place of clarity by making a list. Because, hey, that's what I do. Like really, I basically get paid to make lists and check things off. Seriously. I digress. I'm going to make a list. There are so many things that I think I'd like to do but somehow never get around to doing. Some bit of work or life gets in the way. I guess now more than ever, I appreciate that maybe 30 years isn't really that long, and there's no time like the present to make the most out of all the blessings I've been given. I feel so fortunate to be educated and aware, living in a place where I have the most basic of human freedoms that so many don't have, with wonderful people in my life. I still live with uncertainty about the future, knowing that where I am now probably isn't where I always want to be, but it is time to revel in that freedom instead of seeing it as a hindrance. So, it's time to whip out that new checklist template in my Word 2011 for Mac and get on it. Time to rock out. With my, err... yeah. Nevermind. (Some of us get older without really ever growing up.)
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
the high holy days
Y'all. Christmas is 10 days away. Holy schnikies. It's just too soon. Miracle upon miracles, I've actually finished all my shopping. But I also came up with the brilliant idea to actually make some stuff for presents this year... and you know what you need in order to be able to do that? Time. Yeah. Time. So between working like a crazy person, running around like a crazy person, and trying to actually keep from being a crazy person like a crazy person... well, I don't have a lot of that precious resource. But I'm going to do it. I will win.
I have a thing for holiday/seasonal wreaths. Not gonna lie. But not the ugly old lady kind that your grandma has (no offense to your grandma, natch) or the incredibly make-a-me-wanna-barf overworked bedazzled crapola hanging all over the walls at your local craft store. Nosiree. My favorites look like this pretty little thing with all these dried flowers and raffia and funsies.
Or this one with its old silver and simple ribbon feel.
And of course, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a little bit in love with idea of making something completely out of old sheet music.
My favorite Christmas-looking stuff usually involves a combination of homemade natural kinds of things with unexpected bits of color or a slightly more modern take on an old design. I've made several wreaths for my mom (since our tradition is doing a new holiday theme each year, and you just can't hack that with the same boring wreath year after year) and some other parental types. Something about the process is both fun and calming in the midst of hectic holiday madness. I haven't felt the creative vibe in awhile, so I'm actually kind of looking forward to just channeling my zen or whatever and making something pretty. If I remember, maybe I'll share the final results. I'm bad about that though.
I've done some fun things over the past few months... stuff that felt blog-worthy even in the moments it was happening. I've probably started 4 or 5 different blogs in my head, only to skip past them and move on to whatever felt more pressing at the time. Maybe I'll do a little of that over the holiday break. I want to talk about the ocean and my trip to Notre Dame and maybe a few other things too. We'll see. Until then, I'm just trying to keep my wits about me as I get ready for gifting and driving and all that fun stuff.
It's funny how your attitude changes as you get older. I guess when you're a kid you reap all the benefits of the holidays without really having to do the work. Of course, I always got dragged around over the eastern half of the country for several days, which was never fun, but I just went where I was told. I wasn't the one doing the telling. Now I have to buy the stuff, wrap the stuff (which, frankly, is my favorite part of the whole thing. I LOVE buying and wrapping presents, even if I don't so much love spending money.), plan when I can be where, get myself there, and try to be charming and not act like I'm tired and stressed out. Over the past few years, it has felt more like a chore than a time of celebration and excitement. It does feel a little different this year though. Maybe it's the cold weather. There is something inspirational about being cold. I've been trying to make a point of embracing the traditions that I always loved as a kid too: watching the Macy's parade and eating cinnamon rolls on Thanksgiving morning, Black Friday shopping with my mom, childhood Christmas favorites from Disney and the Peanuts and those people who do the stop-animation stuff, cold nights and hot chocolate and flannel pajamas, and seeing my grandmother's perfect Christmas tree that has looked the same since my dad was a kid. There are some things that feel "right" no matter what else is going on in life, and those are the things that I've been trying to focus on most when I feel frustrated about the production of the holidays. Those are the things that help me remember what it's all about anyway. (I guarantee you Jesus had something to do with hot chocolate.)
I hope everyone can take the time to tap into their creative centers and/or find some time to recreate the stuff that was fun as a kid, without getting bogged down in the "have to" that always comes with this time of year. It really should be fun. And it's just hard not to smile when you've got pretty stuff and fun people around you.
I have a thing for holiday/seasonal wreaths. Not gonna lie. But not the ugly old lady kind that your grandma has (no offense to your grandma, natch) or the incredibly make-a-me-wanna-barf overworked bedazzled crapola hanging all over the walls at your local craft store. Nosiree. My favorites look like this pretty little thing with all these dried flowers and raffia and funsies.
Or this one with its old silver and simple ribbon feel.
And of course, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a little bit in love with idea of making something completely out of old sheet music.
My favorite Christmas-looking stuff usually involves a combination of homemade natural kinds of things with unexpected bits of color or a slightly more modern take on an old design. I've made several wreaths for my mom (since our tradition is doing a new holiday theme each year, and you just can't hack that with the same boring wreath year after year) and some other parental types. Something about the process is both fun and calming in the midst of hectic holiday madness. I haven't felt the creative vibe in awhile, so I'm actually kind of looking forward to just channeling my zen or whatever and making something pretty. If I remember, maybe I'll share the final results. I'm bad about that though.
I've done some fun things over the past few months... stuff that felt blog-worthy even in the moments it was happening. I've probably started 4 or 5 different blogs in my head, only to skip past them and move on to whatever felt more pressing at the time. Maybe I'll do a little of that over the holiday break. I want to talk about the ocean and my trip to Notre Dame and maybe a few other things too. We'll see. Until then, I'm just trying to keep my wits about me as I get ready for gifting and driving and all that fun stuff.
It's funny how your attitude changes as you get older. I guess when you're a kid you reap all the benefits of the holidays without really having to do the work. Of course, I always got dragged around over the eastern half of the country for several days, which was never fun, but I just went where I was told. I wasn't the one doing the telling. Now I have to buy the stuff, wrap the stuff (which, frankly, is my favorite part of the whole thing. I LOVE buying and wrapping presents, even if I don't so much love spending money.), plan when I can be where, get myself there, and try to be charming and not act like I'm tired and stressed out. Over the past few years, it has felt more like a chore than a time of celebration and excitement. It does feel a little different this year though. Maybe it's the cold weather. There is something inspirational about being cold. I've been trying to make a point of embracing the traditions that I always loved as a kid too: watching the Macy's parade and eating cinnamon rolls on Thanksgiving morning, Black Friday shopping with my mom, childhood Christmas favorites from Disney and the Peanuts and those people who do the stop-animation stuff, cold nights and hot chocolate and flannel pajamas, and seeing my grandmother's perfect Christmas tree that has looked the same since my dad was a kid. There are some things that feel "right" no matter what else is going on in life, and those are the things that I've been trying to focus on most when I feel frustrated about the production of the holidays. Those are the things that help me remember what it's all about anyway. (I guarantee you Jesus had something to do with hot chocolate.)
I hope everyone can take the time to tap into their creative centers and/or find some time to recreate the stuff that was fun as a kid, without getting bogged down in the "have to" that always comes with this time of year. It really should be fun. And it's just hard not to smile when you've got pretty stuff and fun people around you.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
politics, hold the mayo
I'm not a political person. I don't enjoy the process or the endless cycle of agenda-driven decision making. I rarely engage in discussion about it, because I generally don't believe most people, myself included in many cases, know enough to speak intelligently on most matters. I also generally don't trust the public as a whole to make informed decisions. I stay away from political facebook and twitter posts, especially links to inflammatory articles, because no matter the subject, I usually find myself getting angry with the false logic used to support any given stance. I don't want to participate in a back-and-forth comment war on something that only serves to waste my time, because in the end, I realize my opinion in a given social media market is really not important. But this is my blog, and I started it because I felt that I wanted a place to say some of the things I want to say.
Today is a mid-term election day. For the first time since I turned 18, I didn't vote. And here's why: I don't believe any of my choices are the best person for the job. I believe that I would have, as I have so many times previously, voted for a candidate I felt was the lesser of two evils. I don't believe in the notion of voting along party lines - party alignment and greedy agendas have gotten us into this mess to begin with, and they're not magically going to get us out of it. Every 8-10 years, the political climate shifts from one extreme to the other, as people vote based on reactions to perceived negative issues from the previous administrations. None is any better than the other as far as I can tell, and each has left us with some kind of mess on our hands, whether that be in wars that should or shouldn't be fought, in money that should or shouldn't be spent or redistributed, in jobs that shouldn't be lost or gained, in general frustrations with the state of the nation and our future as a civilization. In the end, someone is going to get screwed over - either the person who has worked hard for his wealth and shouldn't have it taken away, or the person who can't seem to get ahead despite his best intentions and genuinely needs resources to right his path. It seems to me that the current system allows for no real winner. This is like asking me to choose mayonnaise or mustard on my sandwich. I hate mustard slightly less than I hate mayonnaise, but I don't WANT either of them.
I'm tired of Christians using the Bible to defend their stances against gay marriage and abortion, while simultaneously ignoring all of the passages where Jesus commanded his disciples to share their riches with those less fortunate. I'm tired of non-Christians taking away the fundamental rights of others in the name of political correctness when it's really just a trend toward anti-Christianity. I'm tired of mudslinging and smear campaigns put out by people who preach family values, and I'm equally tired of those same campaigns put out by people who do it only because they have no other way to defend themselves after failing miserably at the jobs we've elected them to complete. I'm tired of all of it. Is voting really the best way to fix it?
People tell me that voting is my constitutional obligation, that voting is my way to elicit change, that voting is my opportunity to have my voice heard. But I'm not so sure that choosing between two things I don't want is really doing any of those things. I don't want to have to elect someone who doesn't represent what I believe is most important in life. I want to vote for someone whom I passionately believe is the best person for the job. And today, I wonder how many people really got that opportunity. How many people out there can truly say they voted for policies and people that they seriously researched and felt were the best possible options for the future of our country, for our children and grandchildren? Because if you can't say that you voted for something you ardently believe in and support, and not just the lesser of two evils, then it seems to me that you have done a disservice to yourself and your future by propagating a system that is clearly flawed in its current state. To me, the greater statement of upholding my constitution, eliciting change, and having my voice heard is by remaining silent until there is something worthy of me speaking out. And if more people reacted this way - if voter turnout reached an all-time low with the knowledge that no one was going to elect officials they don't believe in - perhaps the system could actually change for the better. All I want is a condiment-free sandwich. I don't think that's too much to ask.
Today is a mid-term election day. For the first time since I turned 18, I didn't vote. And here's why: I don't believe any of my choices are the best person for the job. I believe that I would have, as I have so many times previously, voted for a candidate I felt was the lesser of two evils. I don't believe in the notion of voting along party lines - party alignment and greedy agendas have gotten us into this mess to begin with, and they're not magically going to get us out of it. Every 8-10 years, the political climate shifts from one extreme to the other, as people vote based on reactions to perceived negative issues from the previous administrations. None is any better than the other as far as I can tell, and each has left us with some kind of mess on our hands, whether that be in wars that should or shouldn't be fought, in money that should or shouldn't be spent or redistributed, in jobs that shouldn't be lost or gained, in general frustrations with the state of the nation and our future as a civilization. In the end, someone is going to get screwed over - either the person who has worked hard for his wealth and shouldn't have it taken away, or the person who can't seem to get ahead despite his best intentions and genuinely needs resources to right his path. It seems to me that the current system allows for no real winner. This is like asking me to choose mayonnaise or mustard on my sandwich. I hate mustard slightly less than I hate mayonnaise, but I don't WANT either of them.
I'm tired of Christians using the Bible to defend their stances against gay marriage and abortion, while simultaneously ignoring all of the passages where Jesus commanded his disciples to share their riches with those less fortunate. I'm tired of non-Christians taking away the fundamental rights of others in the name of political correctness when it's really just a trend toward anti-Christianity. I'm tired of mudslinging and smear campaigns put out by people who preach family values, and I'm equally tired of those same campaigns put out by people who do it only because they have no other way to defend themselves after failing miserably at the jobs we've elected them to complete. I'm tired of all of it. Is voting really the best way to fix it?
People tell me that voting is my constitutional obligation, that voting is my way to elicit change, that voting is my opportunity to have my voice heard. But I'm not so sure that choosing between two things I don't want is really doing any of those things. I don't want to have to elect someone who doesn't represent what I believe is most important in life. I want to vote for someone whom I passionately believe is the best person for the job. And today, I wonder how many people really got that opportunity. How many people out there can truly say they voted for policies and people that they seriously researched and felt were the best possible options for the future of our country, for our children and grandchildren? Because if you can't say that you voted for something you ardently believe in and support, and not just the lesser of two evils, then it seems to me that you have done a disservice to yourself and your future by propagating a system that is clearly flawed in its current state. To me, the greater statement of upholding my constitution, eliciting change, and having my voice heard is by remaining silent until there is something worthy of me speaking out. And if more people reacted this way - if voter turnout reached an all-time low with the knowledge that no one was going to elect officials they don't believe in - perhaps the system could actually change for the better. All I want is a condiment-free sandwich. I don't think that's too much to ask.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
nostalgia.
It's officially fall. Fall is, almost by default, my favorite time of year. I don't like being hot. I don't like being cold. I like being comfortable. And I am most comfortable somewhere between 55 and 75 degrees, give or take 5 for a perfect chilly morning/night or a beautiful afternoon in the sun. Fall weather. Spring weather. It's really a toss-up. But fall gets the edge for having football, for leading to evenings spent next to campfires with a warm scarf and hot chocolate in hand, and for not typically being home to the sinus infections of spring when everything starts blooming again. Fall is wonderful.
Not only do I appreciate the weather and the snuggliness inherent to fall, but I also find a great sense of nostalgia with the start of school and a sense of "new beginnings." As I may have said before, I feel like I have lived my life on the school calendar. So while a new year technically begins in January for most people, it's always been in the middle for me, while September signals the start of something new. Maybe it's a strange juxtaposition... seeing new beginnings during the time of year when leaves turn vibrant shades and slowly wither off the trees, preparing for the cold and gray of winter. But to me it's perfect. Looking back over my life, fall has always been the most exciting time for me. I loved school growing up, and I looked forward with anticipation to that sense of excitement in buying new pens and paper (and post-it notes and notebooks and day planners, oh my!) and shopping for back-to-school clothes paired with the full fall sensory experience - the temperatures, the textures, the colors, the smells, the sounds. It all makes me feel at home somehow... there's a sense of comfort and sameness while also knowing that something new and unexpected is just around the corner. And I guess to me that's what life is about.
This year, it seems I'm feeling these things more than normal. I've been waiting with even greater anticipation for new scarves and sweaters, for great football games, for s'mores and hot cider, for time with people I love. And maybe that's the kicker. I had lunch with a high school friend a few weeks ago. It was great just to spend time with her, this person I spent so much time with as a teenager, full of hopes and dreams of what we'd be like in ten years. Now more than ten years later, at almost 30 years of age, we know the answer. We reminisced about our days in high school and some of the choices we've made, and it made me wonder what my life would be like if I had done A instead of B, if I had chosen to remain close to this person instead of that person, if I had gone there instead of here. Neither of us is where we thought we'd be or with the people we thought we'd be with, but we know that we're probably the best versions of ourselves now. And there was a great sense of peace in knowing that we still have a friendship and a comfort level together, despite many years spent growing and evolving into very different people than we were in high school.
I've been thinking about my grandparents a lot lately. My grandmother died in October 2005 after living and surviving many years with Alzheimer's. She - her wit, her personality, and probably even a bit of her spirit - was gone long before her body left us, but there was still a sense of finality when she did finally pass away. She was an incredible woman, full of life and feisty energy and grace far beyond someone from such a humble beginning. It had been so many years since she'd even been able to speak or interact with us, and I still felt that even though "she" wasn't with us, she must still have known that things weren't right. I can't imagine what it must be like to know that you're losing your mind, in the truest sense, especially for someone who was so alive and amazing. It was hard to watch her lose herself, the mother and Nana we all knew and loved. I had a hard time, even as an adult, seeing the degeneration, almost to the point that I couldn't be in the room with her after she was mostly unaware and bedridden. It just wasn't her anymore, and I struggled for a really long time to reach a point where I felt any sense of peace in the presence of what felt like her empty shell.
One day toward the end, my family, who cared for her at home until the day she died, asked me to stay with her. I made it my mission that day to try to resolve all the feelings of sadness and discomfort that I felt around her. I sat and watched her, taking in the contours of her face - still almost perfect and line-free even at 83 years of age - studying the exact shades of shiny gray and crisp white in her hair, marveling at the brilliant blue of her eyes, and finding some semblance of the person I grew up loving so much. My nana loved hymns. And, more than almost anything, she loved to hear me sing. It was one of those things I resented as a kid and teenager - being asked to stand on a stool and serenade my family at every holiday gathering - but as I watched her there in her living room-turned-hospital, I just felt like she needed to hear me again. One of her favorite hymns was His Eye is on the Sparrow, and I remembered her teaching it to me when I was young. So I sang to her. And even though I'm not sure she knew who I was or was even fully aware of what was happening, I could see the faintest hint of a smile on her sleeping face. And I finally found the peace I'd been so desperately hoping to find. So when she died, it wasn't sadness that I felt... it was relief and almost joy, like a darkness had lifted. I felt such comfort knowing that her physical earthly struggle was over and she was whole again. The day she died, I had made plans to go to a Nickel Creek concert with some friends. In light of the circumstances, I offered to go be with my family right away, but my mom encouraged me to go to the concert. She said there was nothing I could do at home on a Friday night, and my grandmother would have loved their music. So I went to the show, with two of my best friends, the perfect people to be with in a time like that. And we watched, listened, sang along. I will never forget the feelings of quiet wonder, the complete perfection of sound and song, the absolute peace that washed over me again in those moments. It was the same peace I felt when I sang to her, connecting across illness and time and space through something we both loved so much.
My grandfather died about 18 months after my grandmother. He had long been in poor physical health, but his mind was strong... and I think his will to outlive my grandmother (and make sure she was properly cared for until the end) was probably what kept him going. He was pretty amazing that way. There were a lot of things in life that he just willed himself to do. After fighting in World War II, he married my grandmother, and they moved from small town Georgia to the big city of Detroit, MI. The American car industry was just taking off, and that was the easiest place to find work, especially for someone who already had machine skills. He worked for Chrysler as a machinist through many years, two children, and a move to Indianapolis. He sometimes worked 2 or 3 jobs at a time to help the family stay out of debt. His will prevented him from buying things on credit and made him a pretty wealthy man by the end of his life. His will also meant that he wasn't always the easiest person to be around. He and my grandmother were physical opposites - he being about 6'5" and a very sturdy 300 pounds, and she being somewhere around 5' tall and 120 on a "fat day." He was often harsh, outspoken, and difficult, while she was nurturing, calm, and sweet most of the time. But it wasn't that he was a mean person. In fact, he had a pretty keen sense of what was really right and wrong when it came down to it. Despite growing up in the deep south during the Depression years, when it was common to call black people "colored" or the N-word, he formed great friendships with several black families. He shared everything he had with people in the area who were less fortunate, though he always did it quietly and without a show. When he was in the Navy, he stood up for a fellow soldier who was being mistreated by the officers, almost to his own detriment. He was always willing to do anything he could for his family, and he kept us from struggling after my parents' divorce. He really treated me like a third daughter, with the exception that I could usually win him over in any argument and get my way just by smiling at him and telling him I loved him. This imposing force let me fix his hair and put makeup on him. And he would crawl around on the ground and let me ride on his back because I wanted a pony. Looking back, I was probably simultaneously frightened and in awe of him for most of my life, but I also knew he was a big softie at heart. And I think that's probably what made him so remarkable.
His own sheer determination kept him alive a lot longer than most people would have imagined... someone of his stature, with two hip replacements, a quadruple bypass, diabetes, a pacemaker... he made himself survive. The last several years of his life were filled with physical pain and worry about our family. He always told me, "I hope I see you graduate from high school. I might not make it that long." When those years came and went, he hoped he'd see me graduate from college - and I wanted that for him, because he's really the person who drove me to choose my college, and he helped pay for a lot of it. When I chose grad school, he helped fund that, too, hoping that he'd live to see me make it out of there, and that it would take me back to work at my college (only 45 minutes from home) someday. I thought, "No way. I'll never end up back there." After I finished grad school, I applied for jobs all across the country. I interviewed for a job at a college in California and fell in love with it. We didn't tell him that I was interviewing out there, mostly because we knew he'd worry himself to death if he knew I was that far away or was even considering moving that far away.
He died the morning after I returned from California. It wasn't sudden in the sense that it was completely unexpected - he was 82 years old after all. But it wasn't something we were actively anticipating, and in that sense, it was a little shocking. I was pretty certain that I would be offered that job in California. And at first, I felt like his death and the subsequent release from that pressure to come back home were a sign that it was okay for me to move on. But as things progressed, I knew that my mom and aunt, who were in a sense still recovering from my grandmother's illness and death, couldn't take care of everything on their own as they'd always done and deal with me moving across the country at the same time. It just didn't feel right to me for some reason. So I removed myself from consideration for the job and opted to move back home to help out. One month later, I saw a job opening at my college and applied for it. I got the job and started 3 weeks later, and I've been here ever since. Even in his death, my grandfather still managed to make things go his way. I can't help but think how happy he'd be that I'm close to home and in a place he so wanted me to be. Part of me wishes he'd have lived to see it... but if he had lived, I'm not so sure I would have ended up here. When he died, there was some sense of relief, just like with my grandmother - mostly because we knew he was not doing well physically, and he was just fighting to keep going. It felt like the fight was finally over. And it has taken a long time for me to realize that he's really gone. He always said, "One day I'm not going to be here anymore, and you're going to miss me." He always said this when I was mad at him... which happened quite a bit, truth be told. I loved him and respected him, but man, he frustrated the absolute hell out of me sometimes. Some days I miss him so much I can't stand it, but I can't help but smile when I think he's probably sitting up there saying, "I told her that would happen." It has taken me until now to realize that the old man was right.
Not only do I appreciate the weather and the snuggliness inherent to fall, but I also find a great sense of nostalgia with the start of school and a sense of "new beginnings." As I may have said before, I feel like I have lived my life on the school calendar. So while a new year technically begins in January for most people, it's always been in the middle for me, while September signals the start of something new. Maybe it's a strange juxtaposition... seeing new beginnings during the time of year when leaves turn vibrant shades and slowly wither off the trees, preparing for the cold and gray of winter. But to me it's perfect. Looking back over my life, fall has always been the most exciting time for me. I loved school growing up, and I looked forward with anticipation to that sense of excitement in buying new pens and paper (and post-it notes and notebooks and day planners, oh my!) and shopping for back-to-school clothes paired with the full fall sensory experience - the temperatures, the textures, the colors, the smells, the sounds. It all makes me feel at home somehow... there's a sense of comfort and sameness while also knowing that something new and unexpected is just around the corner. And I guess to me that's what life is about.
This year, it seems I'm feeling these things more than normal. I've been waiting with even greater anticipation for new scarves and sweaters, for great football games, for s'mores and hot cider, for time with people I love. And maybe that's the kicker. I had lunch with a high school friend a few weeks ago. It was great just to spend time with her, this person I spent so much time with as a teenager, full of hopes and dreams of what we'd be like in ten years. Now more than ten years later, at almost 30 years of age, we know the answer. We reminisced about our days in high school and some of the choices we've made, and it made me wonder what my life would be like if I had done A instead of B, if I had chosen to remain close to this person instead of that person, if I had gone there instead of here. Neither of us is where we thought we'd be or with the people we thought we'd be with, but we know that we're probably the best versions of ourselves now. And there was a great sense of peace in knowing that we still have a friendship and a comfort level together, despite many years spent growing and evolving into very different people than we were in high school.
I've been thinking about my grandparents a lot lately. My grandmother died in October 2005 after living and surviving many years with Alzheimer's. She - her wit, her personality, and probably even a bit of her spirit - was gone long before her body left us, but there was still a sense of finality when she did finally pass away. She was an incredible woman, full of life and feisty energy and grace far beyond someone from such a humble beginning. It had been so many years since she'd even been able to speak or interact with us, and I still felt that even though "she" wasn't with us, she must still have known that things weren't right. I can't imagine what it must be like to know that you're losing your mind, in the truest sense, especially for someone who was so alive and amazing. It was hard to watch her lose herself, the mother and Nana we all knew and loved. I had a hard time, even as an adult, seeing the degeneration, almost to the point that I couldn't be in the room with her after she was mostly unaware and bedridden. It just wasn't her anymore, and I struggled for a really long time to reach a point where I felt any sense of peace in the presence of what felt like her empty shell.
One day toward the end, my family, who cared for her at home until the day she died, asked me to stay with her. I made it my mission that day to try to resolve all the feelings of sadness and discomfort that I felt around her. I sat and watched her, taking in the contours of her face - still almost perfect and line-free even at 83 years of age - studying the exact shades of shiny gray and crisp white in her hair, marveling at the brilliant blue of her eyes, and finding some semblance of the person I grew up loving so much. My nana loved hymns. And, more than almost anything, she loved to hear me sing. It was one of those things I resented as a kid and teenager - being asked to stand on a stool and serenade my family at every holiday gathering - but as I watched her there in her living room-turned-hospital, I just felt like she needed to hear me again. One of her favorite hymns was His Eye is on the Sparrow, and I remembered her teaching it to me when I was young. So I sang to her. And even though I'm not sure she knew who I was or was even fully aware of what was happening, I could see the faintest hint of a smile on her sleeping face. And I finally found the peace I'd been so desperately hoping to find. So when she died, it wasn't sadness that I felt... it was relief and almost joy, like a darkness had lifted. I felt such comfort knowing that her physical earthly struggle was over and she was whole again. The day she died, I had made plans to go to a Nickel Creek concert with some friends. In light of the circumstances, I offered to go be with my family right away, but my mom encouraged me to go to the concert. She said there was nothing I could do at home on a Friday night, and my grandmother would have loved their music. So I went to the show, with two of my best friends, the perfect people to be with in a time like that. And we watched, listened, sang along. I will never forget the feelings of quiet wonder, the complete perfection of sound and song, the absolute peace that washed over me again in those moments. It was the same peace I felt when I sang to her, connecting across illness and time and space through something we both loved so much.
My grandfather died about 18 months after my grandmother. He had long been in poor physical health, but his mind was strong... and I think his will to outlive my grandmother (and make sure she was properly cared for until the end) was probably what kept him going. He was pretty amazing that way. There were a lot of things in life that he just willed himself to do. After fighting in World War II, he married my grandmother, and they moved from small town Georgia to the big city of Detroit, MI. The American car industry was just taking off, and that was the easiest place to find work, especially for someone who already had machine skills. He worked for Chrysler as a machinist through many years, two children, and a move to Indianapolis. He sometimes worked 2 or 3 jobs at a time to help the family stay out of debt. His will prevented him from buying things on credit and made him a pretty wealthy man by the end of his life. His will also meant that he wasn't always the easiest person to be around. He and my grandmother were physical opposites - he being about 6'5" and a very sturdy 300 pounds, and she being somewhere around 5' tall and 120 on a "fat day." He was often harsh, outspoken, and difficult, while she was nurturing, calm, and sweet most of the time. But it wasn't that he was a mean person. In fact, he had a pretty keen sense of what was really right and wrong when it came down to it. Despite growing up in the deep south during the Depression years, when it was common to call black people "colored" or the N-word, he formed great friendships with several black families. He shared everything he had with people in the area who were less fortunate, though he always did it quietly and without a show. When he was in the Navy, he stood up for a fellow soldier who was being mistreated by the officers, almost to his own detriment. He was always willing to do anything he could for his family, and he kept us from struggling after my parents' divorce. He really treated me like a third daughter, with the exception that I could usually win him over in any argument and get my way just by smiling at him and telling him I loved him. This imposing force let me fix his hair and put makeup on him. And he would crawl around on the ground and let me ride on his back because I wanted a pony. Looking back, I was probably simultaneously frightened and in awe of him for most of my life, but I also knew he was a big softie at heart. And I think that's probably what made him so remarkable.
His own sheer determination kept him alive a lot longer than most people would have imagined... someone of his stature, with two hip replacements, a quadruple bypass, diabetes, a pacemaker... he made himself survive. The last several years of his life were filled with physical pain and worry about our family. He always told me, "I hope I see you graduate from high school. I might not make it that long." When those years came and went, he hoped he'd see me graduate from college - and I wanted that for him, because he's really the person who drove me to choose my college, and he helped pay for a lot of it. When I chose grad school, he helped fund that, too, hoping that he'd live to see me make it out of there, and that it would take me back to work at my college (only 45 minutes from home) someday. I thought, "No way. I'll never end up back there." After I finished grad school, I applied for jobs all across the country. I interviewed for a job at a college in California and fell in love with it. We didn't tell him that I was interviewing out there, mostly because we knew he'd worry himself to death if he knew I was that far away or was even considering moving that far away.
He died the morning after I returned from California. It wasn't sudden in the sense that it was completely unexpected - he was 82 years old after all. But it wasn't something we were actively anticipating, and in that sense, it was a little shocking. I was pretty certain that I would be offered that job in California. And at first, I felt like his death and the subsequent release from that pressure to come back home were a sign that it was okay for me to move on. But as things progressed, I knew that my mom and aunt, who were in a sense still recovering from my grandmother's illness and death, couldn't take care of everything on their own as they'd always done and deal with me moving across the country at the same time. It just didn't feel right to me for some reason. So I removed myself from consideration for the job and opted to move back home to help out. One month later, I saw a job opening at my college and applied for it. I got the job and started 3 weeks later, and I've been here ever since. Even in his death, my grandfather still managed to make things go his way. I can't help but think how happy he'd be that I'm close to home and in a place he so wanted me to be. Part of me wishes he'd have lived to see it... but if he had lived, I'm not so sure I would have ended up here. When he died, there was some sense of relief, just like with my grandmother - mostly because we knew he was not doing well physically, and he was just fighting to keep going. It felt like the fight was finally over. And it has taken a long time for me to realize that he's really gone. He always said, "One day I'm not going to be here anymore, and you're going to miss me." He always said this when I was mad at him... which happened quite a bit, truth be told. I loved him and respected him, but man, he frustrated the absolute hell out of me sometimes. Some days I miss him so much I can't stand it, but I can't help but smile when I think he's probably sitting up there saying, "I told her that would happen." It has taken me until now to realize that the old man was right.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
football. as in, are you ready for some?
I think it's time to deviate from introspection and thoughtfulness for awhile and talk about something I love as much as any of the other hobbies, work, or other bizarro crap I seem to use to fill my time. Imma talk about some football. Specifically, college football. Now, granted, I appreciate the NFL for starting preseason games well before college football begins and holding playoffs and the SuperBowl long after the last college bowl game has been played... but I'm really not going to lose any sleep over it. College football on the other hand... well, I might not lose any sleep over it either. I mean, let's be honest, I don't really lose sleep over anything other than my job. And that's because they pay me not to screw stuff up. But I digress. College football makes-a-me-giddy. And there's almost nothing better than that feeling.
I have a favorite team. You all (three) probably hate them. I don't care. I'm not a bandwagon Notre Dame fan. I don't like them just because we're all Catholic (which I'm not). I don't like them just because they're the Fighting Irish (which I am). I don't like them because of Rudy (though I love that movie and cry every blessed time I watch it. But that's true of, well, every single football movie ever made.) I didn't even start liking them because of the delicious specimen of man that is Brady Quinn. (He's had a less-than-stellar NFL career, but that doesn't detract from his hotness. Really. The man is a marble statue who belongs in some big fancy place with vaulted mural-ed ceilings. REALLY.) I became a Notre Dame fan as a kid, back when they were pretty consistently good, because of my dad, because we're from Indiana. He's much more into college basketball than he is football, but any time a team from Indiana that isn't Purdue makes it to the big time in any sport, he gets pretty excited. (Has Purdue ever made it to the big time? I don't know.) So I vaguely remember the 1988 championship, even though I was only 7 years old. And I definitely distinctly remember listening to the 1993 game ON THE RADIO when ND stomped all over Florida State and really should have won the title as a result, but that one loss to Boston College - stupid Fredo - ruined it all. Anyway. I've known and rooted for Notre Dame for a long time... through good seasons and through historically terrible seasons. My cousin is married to a former ND offensive lineman, so it's in the family now for real.
I had the chance to go to my first ND home game a couple years ago. It had snowed 12 inches the day before we arrived in the 'Bend. This was the weekend before Thanksgiving, so it felt all pretty and holiday-ish with the blanket of white covering everything. Game day started a little gray but turned out sunny and beautiful. The atmosphere at ND is unlike any other college game experience I've ever had. (A couple of Georgia games and one at GaTech.) It just feels different. Beautiful stately stone halls. Green common areas. Brilliant autumn leaves. A couple of lakes with a random rowing team. People wearing striped scarves in school colors. It's actually very much like my non-football alma mater. It feels like college is *supposed* to feel in my mind... a place that makes you instantly smarter just because you've stepped foot on campus. Fall makes me very nostalgic for idealized academia and school supplies and letter sweaters. It's that long exhaling "ahh" feeling like you get from a perfect song that just makes it seem as though the stars have aligned and absolutely everything is right in the world.
Moving on. It was approximately 27 degrees at kickoff (2:30pm) and was well below freezing balls by the time the game ended around 6:15. I've never been that cold for that long. In fact, we had to sit in the car until the feeling in my feet came back so that I could feel the pedals to drive back to the hotel. Oh, and Notre Dame lost. To SYRACUSE of all people. The same Syracuse who had fired their head coach the week before because they were something like 1-37 for the year, despite only having played 10 regular season games. Yeah. It was ugly. And yet, it's probably the most fun I've ever had with football in my entire life, because it just felt like college football is supposed to feel.
My love of college football isn't confined to Notre Dame... while they're the team I root for openly and follow on an almost daily basis throughout the year, I love college football in general. I love the teams with a great football history, even though some of them are most hated rivals of my own team. I don't really want to cheer for USC or Michigan out of principal, but it's good for college football when the traditional powers are playing well. But it's not just about the "usual suspects." There's something to be said for the underdog story... teams like BYU and Boise State who have come from relative obscurity to be consistent top 10 teams. I hate their blue turf, but I like seeing them run around like crazy people on it. There's just something about the college game in general that sets it apart from the NFL. It isn't totally free from the greed and seediness found on the professional level (see: Bush, Reggie), but it feels more honest and wholesome. Like apple pie or something. Maybe it's the marching band.
I was always intrigued by football, but I didn't really start 'getting it' until I joined the marching band in high school. I had friends who played legit instruments and did the Friday night game thing all the time. I was a chorus kid, and we always sang the national anthem and then left to go do something else. Even though we were friends with band kids (because we were all in the smart kid classes together and studying music DOES make you smarter as long as you try not to act like an idiot about it), it was pretty uncommon to have crossover between chorus and band. Most people didn't sing and play a band instrument. I personally didn't play an instrument, but my band friends convinced me to try out for color guard mostly so I could hang out with them on the away game road trips. I'm not the least bit athletic, but years of Show Choir meant I knew how to find and move to a beat - the actual beat, not just the one playing in my head. And I was surprisingly pretty good at throwing that flag around. They even made me a captain my senior year. There was lots of drama on the guard - that many girls are bound to get on one another's nerves - so I broke tradition and spent my band time with my actual band friends. Some of them were true band geeks who thought most of the guard girls were pretty ridiculous. I still consider myself only a pseudo-band geek... I mean, I love marching competitions and I get a little excited when that first breeze of fall afternoon weather comes rushing in because I can still hear the quad drums in my head. But I wasn't all like "into band" or anything. I was still cool. Relatively speaking. Anyway. After about 5 games of not knowing what was really going on out there and cheering only when everyone else did, I decided to start paying attention and asking questions. I learned the value of a 1st down. I learned the difference between "safety" the position and "safety" the thing where you score 2 points for the other team. Oopsies. I learned to say "tight end" without giggling. hehehe. Okay, no I didn't. But I know what purpose he serves on the team. As I've gotten older, I've learned more about actual plays and formations, and there's something very exciting about the academic side of football - probably the strategy and organization of it all. I may not be a geek, but I am a nerd... :)
So it's pretty safe to say I'm super excited about this football season. It's approximately 2 days and 23 hours until the Golden Domers kick off for the first time under new head coach Brian Kelly. I'm so looking forward to seeing his high-paced spread offense running around under the watchful eye of Touchdown Jesus. I'm looking forward to yelling at the TV until I lose my voice. (I know, vocalists everywhere are cringing at the thought of that. Oh well.) I'm looking forward to terrible-for-you sports food like wings and nachos and beer. Oh, the beer. And I'm especially looking forward to making another 11 hour drive to beautiful South Bend, Indiana to cheer on the blue and gold in person again in just a few weeks. This time we'll be hoping for less bitter cold (it won't be the end of November this time), spending more time on campus (we're heading up on Thursday so we can hang out on Friday, maybe even get to walk out of the tunnel), and hopefully witnessing an exciting win. eeek. Can't wait. Can.not.wait. Oh, and praise Touchdown Jesus.
I have a favorite team. You all (three) probably hate them. I don't care. I'm not a bandwagon Notre Dame fan. I don't like them just because we're all Catholic (which I'm not). I don't like them just because they're the Fighting Irish (which I am). I don't like them because of Rudy (though I love that movie and cry every blessed time I watch it. But that's true of, well, every single football movie ever made.) I didn't even start liking them because of the delicious specimen of man that is Brady Quinn. (He's had a less-than-stellar NFL career, but that doesn't detract from his hotness. Really. The man is a marble statue who belongs in some big fancy place with vaulted mural-ed ceilings. REALLY.) I became a Notre Dame fan as a kid, back when they were pretty consistently good, because of my dad, because we're from Indiana. He's much more into college basketball than he is football, but any time a team from Indiana that isn't Purdue makes it to the big time in any sport, he gets pretty excited. (Has Purdue ever made it to the big time? I don't know.) So I vaguely remember the 1988 championship, even though I was only 7 years old. And I definitely distinctly remember listening to the 1993 game ON THE RADIO when ND stomped all over Florida State and really should have won the title as a result, but that one loss to Boston College - stupid Fredo - ruined it all. Anyway. I've known and rooted for Notre Dame for a long time... through good seasons and through historically terrible seasons. My cousin is married to a former ND offensive lineman, so it's in the family now for real.
I had the chance to go to my first ND home game a couple years ago. It had snowed 12 inches the day before we arrived in the 'Bend. This was the weekend before Thanksgiving, so it felt all pretty and holiday-ish with the blanket of white covering everything. Game day started a little gray but turned out sunny and beautiful. The atmosphere at ND is unlike any other college game experience I've ever had. (A couple of Georgia games and one at GaTech.) It just feels different. Beautiful stately stone halls. Green common areas. Brilliant autumn leaves. A couple of lakes with a random rowing team. People wearing striped scarves in school colors. It's actually very much like my non-football alma mater. It feels like college is *supposed* to feel in my mind... a place that makes you instantly smarter just because you've stepped foot on campus. Fall makes me very nostalgic for idealized academia and school supplies and letter sweaters. It's that long exhaling "ahh" feeling like you get from a perfect song that just makes it seem as though the stars have aligned and absolutely everything is right in the world.
Moving on. It was approximately 27 degrees at kickoff (2:30pm) and was well below freezing balls by the time the game ended around 6:15. I've never been that cold for that long. In fact, we had to sit in the car until the feeling in my feet came back so that I could feel the pedals to drive back to the hotel. Oh, and Notre Dame lost. To SYRACUSE of all people. The same Syracuse who had fired their head coach the week before because they were something like 1-37 for the year, despite only having played 10 regular season games. Yeah. It was ugly. And yet, it's probably the most fun I've ever had with football in my entire life, because it just felt like college football is supposed to feel.
My love of college football isn't confined to Notre Dame... while they're the team I root for openly and follow on an almost daily basis throughout the year, I love college football in general. I love the teams with a great football history, even though some of them are most hated rivals of my own team. I don't really want to cheer for USC or Michigan out of principal, but it's good for college football when the traditional powers are playing well. But it's not just about the "usual suspects." There's something to be said for the underdog story... teams like BYU and Boise State who have come from relative obscurity to be consistent top 10 teams. I hate their blue turf, but I like seeing them run around like crazy people on it. There's just something about the college game in general that sets it apart from the NFL. It isn't totally free from the greed and seediness found on the professional level (see: Bush, Reggie), but it feels more honest and wholesome. Like apple pie or something. Maybe it's the marching band.
I was always intrigued by football, but I didn't really start 'getting it' until I joined the marching band in high school. I had friends who played legit instruments and did the Friday night game thing all the time. I was a chorus kid, and we always sang the national anthem and then left to go do something else. Even though we were friends with band kids (because we were all in the smart kid classes together and studying music DOES make you smarter as long as you try not to act like an idiot about it), it was pretty uncommon to have crossover between chorus and band. Most people didn't sing and play a band instrument. I personally didn't play an instrument, but my band friends convinced me to try out for color guard mostly so I could hang out with them on the away game road trips. I'm not the least bit athletic, but years of Show Choir meant I knew how to find and move to a beat - the actual beat, not just the one playing in my head. And I was surprisingly pretty good at throwing that flag around. They even made me a captain my senior year. There was lots of drama on the guard - that many girls are bound to get on one another's nerves - so I broke tradition and spent my band time with my actual band friends. Some of them were true band geeks who thought most of the guard girls were pretty ridiculous. I still consider myself only a pseudo-band geek... I mean, I love marching competitions and I get a little excited when that first breeze of fall afternoon weather comes rushing in because I can still hear the quad drums in my head. But I wasn't all like "into band" or anything. I was still cool. Relatively speaking. Anyway. After about 5 games of not knowing what was really going on out there and cheering only when everyone else did, I decided to start paying attention and asking questions. I learned the value of a 1st down. I learned the difference between "safety" the position and "safety" the thing where you score 2 points for the other team. Oopsies. I learned to say "tight end" without giggling. hehehe. Okay, no I didn't. But I know what purpose he serves on the team. As I've gotten older, I've learned more about actual plays and formations, and there's something very exciting about the academic side of football - probably the strategy and organization of it all. I may not be a geek, but I am a nerd... :)
So it's pretty safe to say I'm super excited about this football season. It's approximately 2 days and 23 hours until the Golden Domers kick off for the first time under new head coach Brian Kelly. I'm so looking forward to seeing his high-paced spread offense running around under the watchful eye of Touchdown Jesus. I'm looking forward to yelling at the TV until I lose my voice. (I know, vocalists everywhere are cringing at the thought of that. Oh well.) I'm looking forward to terrible-for-you sports food like wings and nachos and beer. Oh, the beer. And I'm especially looking forward to making another 11 hour drive to beautiful South Bend, Indiana to cheer on the blue and gold in person again in just a few weeks. This time we'll be hoping for less bitter cold (it won't be the end of November this time), spending more time on campus (we're heading up on Thursday so we can hang out on Friday, maybe even get to walk out of the tunnel), and hopefully witnessing an exciting win. eeek. Can't wait. Can.not.wait. Oh, and praise Touchdown Jesus.
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